


Things We Can't Have

by Avana, MindfulDemon



Series: Various - Scraps [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, additional tags will be added as necessary, main pairings and characters are seen above, series of drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avana/pseuds/Avana, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulDemon/pseuds/MindfulDemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so you stretch out your hand-hoping to touch and view the worlds of reality unseen, unheard. In one place you walk right and in another you walk left. Sometimes a person lives, sometimes they die, sometimes they're murdered, and sometimes they're the murderer.</p><p>A glimpse into the various possible AUs surrounding Hannibal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Lesson in Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is a look at the fledgling killer that is Marissa Schurr. Implied Arissa and Hannigram.
> 
> Always remember murder is an art.
> 
> Yes, he could see Abigail taking this girl in hand and creating death with her. It was truly lovely. The rush, of blood, of adrenaline, the thrill of taking a life. Bloody kisses. Hands on waists. She licked her lips, looking almost… Hungry.

Shaky hands, shaky breaths. She wasn’t sure how to approach, if she should approach at all. Maybe he already knows. Maybe Abigail told him. Maybe not. But he needs to know and she– she needs to know, too. Jaw clenching, a deep breath.

"…Doctor Lecter?"

 Her approach would have been fairly quiet to normal ears, but he had sensed her nearing as if she had been stomping. The way she was nervously shuffling and her loud uneven breaths; it practically screamed her presence.

He turned slightly; curious in spite of himself. “Yes?”

She swallowed. Hard. “I… I want you to show me. How you… Do what you do.” Her voice gained confidence as she spoke. “I know and… I know about Abigail. Together… We’ve… But I want you to show me. I want to learn.” She wondered if he understood. That the same hands that trembled now had broken necks, had been red with blood in the past. That Abigail had taken her, by the hand, and shown her…

He turned to her fully; interest truly piqued. Peering at her carefully he saw a glimmer of darkness. She was still quivering a bit, but there were undertones of steel slowly weaving their way through her.

Abigail was truly attached to her; he knew this. If she weren’t, she would have never gone to such lengths to defend her.

His eyes darkened a little; his mind slowly piecing together images. Yes, he could see Abigail taking this girl in hand and creating  _death_  with her. It was truly lovely.

He could admire her courage in approaching him with this. It wasn’t all that long ago that he had threatened her. Regardless, she’d have to prove to him just how much she wanted this. “Tell me, why would you to come to me? What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this?”

The young woman watched him watching her, breathing slowly steadying as she came into her own. While nerves still tugged at her, she remembers Abigail, remembers the way the other girl’s hands had guided her own with the knife. The rush, of blood, of adrenaline, the thrill of taking a life. Bloody kisses. Hands on waists.

She licked her lips, looking almost… Hungry.

"I’ve seen what you do. What we do, it’s… killing. What you do is art. You take them and you… Elevate them. I want to do that. I want to know what it feels like."

A slight smile caused his lips to twitch, certainly the only genuine one he’d ever made in her presence. It was filled with dark promise. A feeling not unlike joy rose in him. It was always a pleasure to take those with untapped potential and teach them that murder was art not simply brutality. Even better, she had come to him; an empty vessel, unmolded clay, a chrysalis ready for its becoming.

"I do believe an excursion is in order. Come."

A nod, and she crossed the room to his side, breathing shaky still. Excitement, this time, not nerves. “Who?”

A smirk curled at his lips, an expression Marissa was certainly more familiar with. He glanced down at her as she stood by his side, an eyebrow raised. “This is your piece. I could not choose a victim for you anymore than I could choose a canvas for another artist.”

She bit her lip. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know who.” Swallowing, she closed her eyes, trying to think. Abigail had shown her– A rude salesman, hunted down after he had badgered their apartment for three days. No one came to mind, but god, she wanted this badly.

Perfectly willing to be patient in this, he stood quietly, giving her a few more moments to think.

She wracked her mind. And then it came to her– The bartender. The way she’d looked at Abigail, the way she’d flirted and even dared to reach out and touch what wasn’t hers to touch– The way her hand had lingered when passing Abigail her drink.

"How late is Fridays open until?"

There was cold resolve in her eyes, in her voice; she knew. “Certainly long enough.” Calmly, he passed her the keys to one of his spare cars. He’d provide guidance when necessary, but everything needed to be executed by her: the choice in victims, the planning, the travel, the murder.

The young woman took them, heading for the door and slipping into the car once they were outside. The night was chilly, it was perfect– Deliciously still, but cool. Almost no wind. Starting the engine, “I’ve never done this alone before, I hope you realize. Abigail…”

He eyed her askance from his seat on the passenger side. “Do you think so little of my expertise?”

Clearing her throat, she shook her head. “No. I’m just… Letting you know. I’m probably not up to your standards.” I’ll probably never be up to your standards, but maybe with your help I can try.

A slight noise of acknowledgement. “There will simply be a few more excursions then.”

Parking outside Friday’s, she paused a moment, and luckily so– It was late, but something caught her eye. Leaving through the back entrance– “That’s her. She must be done with her shift.”

A shaky breath, full of anticipation as she slipped out of the car. Folding up a napkin from her pocketbook, she closed on her target, calmly. The smile on her face was beyond charming, personable.

"Excuse me. I think you dropped this…?"

Hannibal stayed seated in the car, cracking the window an inch. He’d be able to observe perfectly fine from where he was.

-

A figure suddenly came out of the darkness, calling out about dropping something. She jumped, startled, not expecting anyone to be here this late.

"W-what?" She spluttered partially angry and partially surprised.

Hurrying to catch up in a way that was far from threatening, Marissa looked apologetic. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, you just– You dropped this on your way out.” She offered the napkin, and the number within.

Scowling, she snatched the napkin from the girl’s hand. She was rather pissed at being frightened for no reason. It was just this stupid, slip of a girl; not a potential rapist, or murderer, or thief. Scoffing, she spit out, “And what is  _this_?”

A playful grin, ignoring the girl’s irritation. She’d observed this one in action, she knew she’d take the bait. “My number.”

Her number? Well that’s interesting. She didn’t even realize how suspicious it was for some random girl to track her down in a dark parking lot to give her their number. She hummed in consideration, her eyes actually looking at the girl - no, young woman. Definitely, a young woman, she thought as she took in those curves. Nice tits and nice ass. Not the best she’s ever seen, but pretty damn good. She licked her lips, “Oh? And who might you be?”

"An admirer." She bit her lip, blue eyes shining in the dark, and she caught the look over she was given. Focusing her gaze on alternating between the woman’s lips and her eyes, a grin, and a faint blush. "Is that okay with you…?"

 With a slight leer, she replied, “More than alright. Want to get out of here? No, need for numbers…you’re here, I’m here…”

Grinning, “Absolutely. Where you want to go?”

"There’s a great bar about ten minutes from here." She gave a wink. "I have a friend there, he’ll let us in. Won’t even card us. Discounted drinks too." Leaning in a little closer she said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Between you and me he’s a great fuck too." Snickering she pulled away, turning to walk to her car. "Come on, while the night’s still young!"

"Fuck the car. Lets walk. It’s a gorgeous night out. Why waste it…?" Her voice was heavy with a promise, a suggestion that was barely either so much as it was a statement.

She sneered a bit glancing down at her heels, “Walk?! You’re fucking kidding right?”

So it wouldn’t go exactly as she’d planned. Fine. She could work with this. Shaking her head and chuckling, “Of course, I’m not that cruel. Come on, let’s get going.”

She smirked, “That’s more like it.” Turning again she resumed her walk to the car. Or rather strut. It wasn’t a crime to show it when you got it, right?

Marissa followed, glancing back at Hannibal once the girl’s back was turned. Trailing behind her, she waited until they were safely out of view before picking up speed near silently. A split second’s warning, not even, and then she’s smashing the woman’s head against the concrete wall. As she passes out, Marissa silently lowers her to the ground, keeping her from any further damage. And then she waits.

She could feel the other girl nearing her, but thought nothing of it. In fact her mind was drifting a bit wondering if after they went drinking if there’d be time for - her vision flashed white then black. Distantly something  _pounded_   and she could feel herself falling. Then she thought no more.

-

Watching Marissa bait her intended prey so deftly was satisfying. In that moment he could see some of Abigail in her. A well constructed lure; all the most colorful and eye-catching bits tied together, woven into an elegant design, able to reel in its victim.

With finely tuned senses he was able to catch most of the conversation. The girl was vulgar, vapid, and rude enough, that had he encountered her first, she would have found her way to his table.

It was a wise plan to try to convince the girl to leave the parking lot, most tended to have security cameras. unfortunately, she had to make due with a shadowed corner. He caught her glance and silently slid from the car. Silently, he slipped over, only a few meters behind when Marissa struck. With some swift maneuvering the girl’s head struck the wall. It was easily enough force to render her unconscious.

As Marissa was lowering the body to the ground he finally stopped just behind her.

As she lowered the body to the ground, Marissa gave a satisfied hum. As much of a pleasure as she had been to converse with, Marissa liked her a lot more silent. She would hopefully make much more satisfying sounds once she awoke once more. Looking up at Hannibal, “We usually do the dirty work in the woods. Help me carry her…?”

Hands already gloved, he didn’t hesitate to heft most of the girl’s weight. “Did you have a specific location in mind?”

She shook her head. “Not quite. I’ll find one, though. Let’s get her into the woods and tie her. We can work out the rest there.”

Amused but somewhat pleasantly surprised by Marissa newfound confidence, he allowed her to take the lead in the making of her own kill. The body was easily carried between the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collaborative RP between me and MindfulDemon. You can also find these on tumblr. They're posted on my blog.
> 
> Me as Hannibal Lecter and unnamed prey: http://drhanniballecter-phdmd.tumblr.com  
> MindfulDemon as Marissa Schurr: http://justabiterude.tumblr.com


	2. Shatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble exploring a universe where Marissa was not killed by Hannibal. Established Arrissa and implied Hannigram.
> 
> There are things worse than death.
> 
> "God fucking damn it! God fucking damn it! Damn it all to hell!" Her voice is a furious cry, cracking and breaking on every note as she sweeps everything off her desk and onto the floor, angry tears streaming down her face. He remembered how rude this girl was to her mother the last time they met. She almost died for it. Now, he was glad he let it go. This outcome was far more delicious than any one meal.

"God fucking damn it! God fucking damn it! Damn it all to hell!" Her voice is a furious cry, cracking and breaking on every note as she sweeps everything off her desk and onto the floor, angry tears streaming down her face. “Fuck! F-Fuck…" The girl slouches against the desk before she sinks to her knees, choking on her tears and pressing her hands over her ears as if to drown something out. Someone. A whimpering sob, entire body wracked with tears as eyes screw tightly shut. She doesn’t even notice the man entering the room.

"I-I’m not… I-I’m not crazy… It was all my fault! I’m sorry Abby… I’m sorry… Abby I-I’m s-s-sorry…”

He had knocked, but slipped inside when he heard the screams and sounds of things falling. She would not have heard. His eyes casually surveyed the chaos before plastering on a faux expression of concern. “Marissa? Can you hear my voice?”

Hands still covering her ears, another choked sob. Looking up at him, an air of confusion, of utter distress, and she stares, teary eyed, lost–

And then she comes back to herself, scrambling to her feet. Instantly defensive, “What are you doing in my room? I– I’m sorry. I can… I’m fine. I’m fine.” She wipes her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

He watched as her defenses instantly rose. No doubt any mentions of therapy would drive her away; a little bit of deception and a little bit of truth then. “My apologies your mother invited me.” Truth, in a manner of speaking. “She asked me to fetch you as she’s finishing dinner.” Truth and a lie, she asked him to ambush her daughter while she finished the meal. “I grew concerned when I heard objects falling.” Lie, he was as intrigued as he was pleased.

Swallowing and wiping her eyes again, she fixed her hair as she tried to steady her breathing. Despite her defenses, she was very obviously shaken. Shaken that he had seen her weak, vulnerable– It was all she was, lately. Her world was falling apart. Taking another deep breath, she looked at him with guarded eyes. “You’re… Why did my mother invite you? I don’t even… I don’t know you. I’m sorry… I don’t know you. Do I know you?”

Shaken and wary, she was like a wounded animal, lashing out in its distress. He stepped a bit farther into the room, toeing around her personal space.

He remembered how  _rude_  this girl was to her mother the last time they met. She almost died for it. Now, he was glad he let it go. This outcome was far more delicious than any one meal.

Yes, this would prove quite the little enjoyment for him. Even now he could hear the latent animosity as she said the word ‘mother’. The path to this girl’s heart lied not with her mother but with Abigail; this he knew.

He parted his lips speaking softly, carefully choosing his words. “We met once before, briefly. I was looking after Abigail at the time, trying to clear her name.”

Instinctively, she backed up as he stepped forward. She liked her personal space– anything less made her nervous. Abigail– The word, the name, made her breath catch. “I– Oh. I… I remember you.” A little, forced smile. It was more of a grimace. “I… Remember you.”

Internally smirking at her retreat, he halted a few paces away. Liar, she probably did not remember him. She certainly remembered Abigail though. All the same he let a commiserating smile cross his face. “It’s alright if you do not fully recall my presence. We did not exchange words.” Here he let his smile soften into something a bit more fond. “You were quite attached to Abigail at the time, if I recall.”

The more he spoke of her, the emptier the other girl’s eyes became. Staring down at the ground, past it, certainly to something only she could see, she swallowed, hard. The air in her lungs escaped in a little huff, almost disbelieving. As if this couldn’t be happening, because it couldn’t, it couldn’t be happening, Abigail– A nod, and she bit her lip. “I… Yes. Yes, we were close. I miss her…” Her voice was beyond wounded, empty.

He took the last few steps toward her while her gaze was averted and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “She is… _was_  a very special young woman.” It was a low blow to stumble on the proper tense. He’d delight in whatever reaction she had, endless possibilities stretched out before his mind’s eye.

Whatever breath she’d had left was forced from her at that. She didn’t meet his eyes, didn’t shy away– She stared at the ground, staring at nothing at all. Voice dull, “Yes.”

Pondering her broken expression he quietly debated his options. He was still playing the long game with Will, and while amused by this slip of a girl, in the grand scheme of things she was nothing.

What would this desperate little fool do with a little hope? He scrutinized her a bit more: the tears, the breakdown, the hollowness in everything about her. It wasn’t even a risk. Suicide wouldn’t be a surprising outcome after all.

Decision made, he pulled her a little closer by the shoulder he still had in his grasp. Gently, he patted her head not unlike how one might pet a moping animal. He murmured quietly in her ear, “What would you do if you could see her again?”

Once more, she didn’t step back. She was tired. So tired. Her voice cracked, and she remained staring down. “I-I’d tell her I love her… I’d tell her I’m sorry.”

Love? Not platonic, friendly love or even familial, pseudo-sibling love. No, this girl was blindingly, consumingly  _in_  love with Abigail. Even better. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and continued to murmur. “And if I told you, I could give you the opportunity to say those very words to her?”

Tears springing to her eyes, she couldn’t fight it anymore. A choking, gasping sob as she slouched against the wall, falling away from him rather than pulling. “I would. I would say them over and over… F-For as long as she would let me.” She shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut as tears rolled down her cheeks.

He palmed a needle that rested in his right pocket. It wasn’t quite necessary yet. Instead he extended his hand invitingly. “Then come, I will take you to her.” If she accepted, a few honeyed words would be enough to soothe her mother.

Breathing shaky, his words managed to shock her into silence. Shaking her head and shutting her eyes tight, her voice shattered. “A-Abigail is dead… How can I… Can you really?”

The girl was still clearly stunned; he stepped a bit closer hand still extended in invitation. “I told you I wanted to clear her name, but things became rather…dangerous. I wanted to protect her, Marissa.” Purposefully, he’d lowered his tone once more, lacing it with sympathy and earnestness. “There is nothing safer than  _death_ …but she is alive, Marissa.” He paused. “And I can take you to her.”

Blinking at him, her eyes were… shocked. There was a hint– the slightest hint of hope, but not quite belief. Taking his hand, her heart won out. “Please show me.” Tears brimmed in her eyes.

Internally, his smirk grew wider as she willingly took her his hand. Externally, his expression remained just as gentle and comforting. He tugged her a little closer as he led her out the door.

He spoke quietly plastering an apologetic expression across his face. “I’m afraid we’ll have to reassure your mother. She wanted me to…help you. I simply wanted to meet Abigail’s friend. She’s been a bit distraught too.” More lies and more truths.

The longer he kept on, the more the hope grew. Maybe it was possible. Maybe she was okay… Maybe everything was wrong. Maybe Abigail… A tired little smile, genuine, up at him. “I don’t blame her. I’ve been… Unstable… Before. I am. Unstable. But… It’s okay.” A deep breath, breathing as if she hadn’t breathed in years.

There was fragile hope and trust blossoming in her eyes. It could be crushed so easily. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. And so could she.

He stopped just in front of the kitchen where the noises of bustling and cooking and clattering utensils could be heard. “I can take care of your mother if you wish. You do not need to speak with her if you do not want to, Marissa.” The semblance of choice is such a powerful thing.

Looking up at him, “I can take care of her. I mean– I’ll talk to her. I won’t tell her anything, I’ll just– I’ll tell her we’re going for a walk.” And she did exactly that– A slightly suspicious look from her mother on the way out, as if to tell Hannibal she was watching him– But little more than that. He had clearly won her over. And anyone capable of putting that spark back in her daughter’s eyes– She was more than grateful. Looking up at Hannibal, a little smile, uncertain. “Okay.”

He led her to his car giving a nod to her mother as they passed. He politely opened the passenger door for her before settling in the driver’s seat himself. He waited until she buckled her seatbelt and then pulled out smoothly. His Bentley making little more noise than a metallic purr. Covertly he texted a short message to Abigail, the phone still concealed in his left side pocket.

_We have a guest you’ll be delighted to see._

It wouldn’t do for the girl to see his basement quite so soon. Abigail will know to go to the guest bedroom.

Looking over at him, she bit her lip. There was hope in her gaze– It was fragile, but it was there. “Is she… is she really okay?”

He turned to meet her gaze. “No one is  _okay_  after having to fake their death. She is alive though…and she misses you.”

A breath out at that, a huge, overwhelmed smile. “Really?”

He returned his eyes to the road and gave a simple, “Yes.”

She turned her attention back to the road as well, forcing herself not to question. Not now. She felt alive. She could breathe. “How far is it?”

"Not far," he said lightly, "another ten or fifteen minutes."

Nodding, she swallowed. “Right. Okay.”

The rest of the ride passed in relative quiet. He could tell she was still bursting with questions but she refrained. Instead she shuffled and fidgeted a bit in her seat. It wasn’t long before the car pulled into his drive way. Calmly, he pulled the key from the ignition and stepped out.

Following, another deep breath. She couldn’t believe this. “She’s… living with you, then?”

"I faked her death to protect her. It wouldn’t be much of a protection if I couldn’t keep an eye on her."

"Right. Right, I’m sorry I’m just… I’m a little overwhelmed." A bright smile up at him. "Thank you…"

He eyed her; he had not done it for her. Regardless he replied, “You’re welcome.” He opened the door, angling himself so she could enter before him. “Please, come in.”

She headed inside, waiting for him to join her before venturing further despite her every instinct. She wanted to find Abigail, to tell her everything, to hear her voice– But she stopped herself. Still smiling, she waited for him to lead.

He close the door with a slight thud enough to muffle the sound of the lock clicking back into place. He was pleased she didn’t simply dart off in search of her friend. It was a polite restraint he could appreciate from such an ill-mannered girl.

Walking around her he forwent his normal courtesies knowing they’d be wasted on this single-minded child. He headed toward the stair beckoning her to follow.

She followed, taking a deep and shaky breath. She was so close. So close to Abigail. She could almost feel it. Swallowing, she bit her lip. Now, the nerves were setting in. They always did, always would. There was nothing she could do to change that.

He walked up the stairs and down the hall, Marissa eagerly trailing after him. Finally, he reached a door near the end of the hallway. He knocked, “Abigail?”

She’d been waiting, anxiously, almost– To see who Hannibal had brought home with him. Such an odd text– When she heard him at the door, she set down her phone. “Come in.”

Abigail’s voice floated through the door. Marissa looked equal parts stunned and deliriously happy. He opened the door again standing to the side to let the girl enter first. No doubt she’d jump on this chance.

Her mouth went dry as she heard Abigail’s voice. She stood there in the doorway, practically in shock, before crossing the room and pulling Abigail into a tight, crushing hug. Tearfully murmured in her ear, “Abby… Abby I thought– Abigail. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I never should have stopped. I never should have stopped looking…” Her voice shattered and tears rolled down her cheeks as Abigail held her equally tight.

"Marissa…"

Unsurprisingly, Marissa launched herself at Abigail. Silently, he too entered the room closing and locking this door as well. Content to sit in the shadows, he observed the two girls’ reunion.

Body wracked with sobs of joy, Marissa laughed at herself, hiding her face in Abigail’s shoulder as the other girl stroked her hair, tearing up as well. “I love you… I love you, Abigail. I love you. I was so scared… I was so scared you were gone forever. I thought you were gone forever…”

Pulling back from her friend to look her in the eye, Abigail grinned, teary eyed and full of relief. Marissa was okay. Marissa hadn’t done anything stupid. The relief was immense, the joy, the happiness. Resting her forehead against the other girl’s and meeting her gaze, a breathless little smile. “I love you too, Mar. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry…” Fingers threaded through Marissa’s hair, gentle but demanding as Abigail pulled the other girl into a gentle, hungry kiss. Marissa remained in shock for a moment, blinking as Abigail kissed her before kissing back. Both had practically forgotten the man’s presence in the room.

His brow furrowed ever so slightly at their lack of decorum. Sighing to himself he let it go, wondering how long it’d take Marissa to notice her friend was lacking an ear.

Marissa’s fingers threaded through Abigail’s hair, stopping in their movement as she reached Abigail’s ear– Or lack thereof. Abigail tensed, pulled back, watched her friend for signs of disgust–

–None came. Nothing but distress, worry, concern, and Marissa cupped Abigail’s face. She’d heard about Will Graham, what had happened– Never had it clicked before now. Croaking out the words, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Abby. Does it hurt? Are you… Are you okay?”

Abigail nodded, smiling a little sadly. Catching sight of the marks on Marissa’s throat– Her scarf had become rather disheveled–

"Marissa…" She reached to touch them, and the girl froze like a deer in the headlights.

He continued to stand silently equal parts amused, mildly irked, and intrigued by their intimacy. He could see the exact moment when Marissa realized her friend was missing an ear. Abigail tensed up preparing for disgust or rejection no doubt. Marissa just offered concern instead.

When  _Abigail_  reached out to trail her fingers against  _Marissa’s_  neck he became intrigued. He eyed their matching scarves and wondered. He stepped to the side just enough to catch a glimpse of silvery lines crossing over the girl’s throat.

Matching scarves for matching scars. He filed that away for potential future use before returning to his position as a forgotten observer.

Marissa bit her lip. “I… I’m sorry. It… I’m so sorry… I fucked up, Abigail. I’m sorry.” She pulled her friend into another tight hug, and Abigail returned it, still slightly in shock. When the two broke away, Abigail reached to untie the scarf. Marissa tensed, but made no move to stop her. Abigail set it aside.

"You don’t need that in front of me. Not ever."

He listened intently; perhaps he’d get information without having to ask anything at all.

Marissa just swallowed, nodding. Reaching up to untie Abigail’s scarf, the two took it off together, leaving it on top of Marissa’s. A little laugh as their hands collided in their effort, and Marissa leaned in to kiss Abigail once more. Smiling against Marissa’s lips, it was quite clear that the two had all but forgotten Hannibal’s presence as Abigail took the kiss a step further and Marissa’s breath caught.

It was Marissa who came back to her senses first. Pulling away, going against every fiber of her being, she rasped out the word. “Abigail–” She glanced at Hannibal. Abigail gave him an almost irritated look, but it was swiftly gone. Blushing slightly,

"Do you… Need us, for anything…?"

His eyebrow rose slightly as they finally remembered he was here. Stepping a bit closer he inquired, “Actually, yes. Marissa, tell me how much do you know about Abigail’s ‘death’?”

Abigail gave him a vaguely irritated look.

Looking up at him with a blush to end all blushes, “I–I heard about it on the news… Will Graham. Coughed up… An ear…” She looked back at Abigail, inclined to hold her friend close but resisting the urge. “I know they found blood. A lot of it…”

He stood unfazed by Abigail’s half-hearted glaring. Nodding at the girls words he continued, “Yes, tell me then Marissa, what do you think of Will Graham?”

She shook her head, uncertain what he wanted to hear and deciding to go with the truth. “I thought he was a murderer. I was inclined to become one as well for a short while, if you know what I mean.”

Darkly amused he stepped a little closer. “Intending to murder Will Graham?” Not something he’d allow by any hand but his own. All the same he was pleased with this admission. One way or another this girl would have broken left by her lonesome. She would have killed herself or killed Will, and all because of Abigail. Now would she commit murder in a _living_  Abigail’s name?

"How would you have managed that? You’re half his size, half his age, and at the time you thought he was a psychotic mass murderer."

Marissa swallowed. “I… I thought about it. I only thought about it.” Fantasized was more along the lines. She had a feeling he saw through her. “I don’t know how I would have.” Another lie.

He was intimately familiar with the darkness that swam in her eyes. Liar, she knew, or had an idea, how she would do it. “I do not care for deception, Marissa. This is the second time you’ve lied to me. Now tell me, how would you have managed to kill Will Graham?”

She felt awful, discussing this in front of Abigail. Indulging the darkness that had blossomed within her in her best friend’s absence. But she couldn’t lose her. Not over something as trivial as a lie. Not over anything. “I thought about doing it with my hands,” she admitted, taking a deep breath. “I know… I know I couldn’t have. Poison was the more realistic of my options but I… He’s innocent. I don’t… I don’t want to kill him. Not anymore.”

He pressed a bit more, “But had he been guilty and had you managed it…what would you feel then?”

Her tongue wet her lips, tone very level as she spoke. “Justified… I would have felt justified.”

Abigail watched.

A little more. He switched the focus of his attention, “And you Abigail? How would you have felt if Marissa had killed in your name?”

That was a weighted question. She knew it as well as he did. “I… Wouldn’t know. Honored, perhaps but…” She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, though she had a sickening feeling she knew where this was headed.

"But…?" He prodded. He wondered if this little teacup he’s been saving for Will had more potential. She had been complicit in her father’s murders, would she be complicit in his as well? Could she be more than simply complicit?

His gaze flickered to her friend. Marissa had the most potential between the two. If not his murders than certainly she’d be complicit in  _her’s_.

"I don’t know how I would feel, Hannibal." The answer was short, to the point. Marissa swallowed, looked to the ground. Ashamed, almost. She’d never wanted her to know…

He caught the forlorn look in Marissa eyes and shifted a bit closer to her. Gently, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “You have no cause for shame; sometimes the thought of doing bad things to bad people feels good.” He echoed words often uttered between Will and he.

"It would feel good." The words were blurted out, but she continued, swallowing. "It… It doesn’t matter now though. You’re okay…" She turned to Abigail, seeking out a hand to hold that the other gladly offered.

The seeds were sown.”She is still in danger, Marissa. Her death was not faked for no reason.”

Squeezing Abigail’s hand, “Well we’ll keep her safe. And she’s not helpless.” The words were spoken out of instinct. Abigail gave Hannibal a warning look. She’d always seen the dark in Marissa– Hannibal did  _not_ need to coax it out. Not now.

He continued, ignoring Abigail’s reproach. “Your desire to protect your friend his admirable. Tell me, do you know what you need to protect her from?”

Standing up, “Hannibal that’s enough.” Abigail’s voice was hard, her heart pounding as she stood between the towering man and Marissa. Marissa opened her mouth to protest, but Abigail gave her a look that shut her right up. “Marissa is tired… I’m tired. Let us rest.”

Abigail would attempt to thwart him at every turn it seems. His eyes narrowed a bit before softening as they glanced at Marissa. He gave her one last gentle pat on the shoulder. “Remember what I said, Marissa. Please, think on it, and my door is always open.” Then he strode to the door unlocking and pulling it open in one smooth motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collaborative RP between me and MindfulDemon. You can also find these on tumblr. They're posted on my blog.
> 
> Me as Hannibal Lecter: http://drhanniballecter-phdmd.tumblr.com  
> MindfulDemon as Marissa Schurr and Abigail Hobbs: http://justabiterude.tumblr.com


	3. Dr. Hadriana Lecter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not so much a drabble as it is the niggling of an idea, half-formed. Implied Hadriana/Margot and implied Hadriana/Will.
> 
> Hadriana Lecter is not a man, has never been a man, but she is just as capable as any other person in this world maybe even more so.
> 
> On that sword she would (ironically, symbolically) impale her brother. She would be the victor; of this Hadriana was sure.

Being a woman had its advantages and disadvantages. Perhaps most prevalent was the constant underestimation. It was useful, of course, and Hadriana certainly knew how to take advantage, but it could be rather tiresome.

It’s why she could appreciate fellow women who were strong, independent, and knew how to play the game. It’s why she allowed Margot to be mutilated. Yes, she didn’t want Will to be the father. However, more than that she saw herself in Margot.

Margot was sophisticated and elegant. She was also intelligent and cunning and strong. Hadriana could not bare children but she was not weaker for it; she did not suffer; she was not lesser. 

Margot would only be burdened by having a child herself. She was clever enough to find another way, and already knowledgeable of the long game.

As far as Hadriana was concerned she did the right thing. Margot would emerge from this experience as the most finely forged sword. On that sword she would (ironically, symbolically) impale her brother. She would be the victor; of this Hadriana was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon and potential prompt. Message me if any of you are interested.


	4. A Father's Prerogative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An RP between a protective father and his daughter's partner. Established Arissa.
> 
> Love is a shield and a weapon.
> 
> She stood her ground as he loomed over her, albeit just barely. Her every instinct was telling her to back up, to run, even, but she didn’t want to appear too meek. Or too defiant, or too respectful, or too childish, or too mature…His inner predator practically purred as it scented her nervousness. It wafted from her, hovering around the two of them like a shroud.

"Abigail speaks of you often; I'd like to know the friend she thinks so highly of."

Marissa blinked. She hadn’t even heard him approach. “I– Oh.” A little smile. Abigail talked about her? “I’m Marissa. I mean… You probably already know that. But then you must be Doctor Lecter…?” She offered him a hand to shake, still smiling.

He took her hand, perhaps a tad more firmly than usual. “Yes, Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” If his answering grin was a little sharper, then that was his business. “I certainly know who you are. As I said, Abigail is constantly speaking of you, Ms. Schurr.”

Constantly? Huh. That was… Not something she’d known of. She hadn’t even realized Abigail talked about her to Hannibal at all.

"She talks about you, too. All good things. What should I call you? Doctor Lecter? Hannibal?" She didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot, not with the man that was essentially Abigail’s father now. A nervous little grin. "I’m sorry… I’m bad at meeting people… New people."

_…Father figures of the girls I’m dating… The likes._

He noted her pause and concluded that her relationship with his daughter was not entirely platonic. His eyes narrowed a bit at the thought; not that he really had any doubt about that.

A trickle of amusement flowed through him as he listened to her fumble over a way to address him. Leaning forward a bit and purposefully looming he told her, “Please, call me whichever title you deem most fitting.” 

She stood her ground as he loomed over her, albeit just barely. Her every instinct was telling her to back up, to run, even, but she didn’t want to appear too meek.

Or too defiant, or too respectful, or too childish, or too mature…

Marissa wanted to be what he wanted her to be. She couldn’t bear being separated from Abigail again. Not now, not ever.

Biting her lip, still nervous, she took a deep breath and smiled.

"…Doctor Lecter it is, then." Rubbing the back of her neck, "What brings you? Do you want… A drink, or food? I’ve… I’ve got snacks. Nothing alcoholic, but we’ve got fruit juice and things… If you’re looking for Abigail, she’s out."

His inner predator practically purred as it scented her nervousness. It wafted from her, hovering around the two of them like a shroud. 

He inhaled. There was a stale sourness of nerves and the slight spice of latent adrenaline. 

Slightly grudgingly he acknowledged she passed that first little test. Although, it would take much more than a respectful title to gain his approval.

Her attempts at playing hostess were rather poor by his standards, but acceptable enough to let it go; if only this once. Eyes narrowed further as he caught her rambling about alcohol. It was rather telling.

Of course he knew Abigail was not here; he was always knowledgeable of her whereabouts. There was a GPS in her phone for a reason after all.

"I simply wish to talk, Ms. Schurr, may I come in?"

She relaxed quite a bit as he told her he only wanted to talk. That made things easier, that made things less scary. She was good at talking. Polite, well spoken… A smile, bright, as she unlocked the door to she and Abigail’s apartment.

"Oh, yeah! Of course. I’m sorry for the bad introduction, we just… Well, we weren’t expecting guests, you know? Please. Make yourself at home, Doctor Lecter." She gestured to the couch.

Heading into the kitchen once he’d followed her inside, “Want something? Orange juice, lemonade, fruit punch, milk, water…?”

He registered her nerves had faded; that would work to his benefit. She had even turned her back to him as she went to fetch refreshments.

"Water would suffice."

Eyes darted around the room soaking up as many details as possible. The room was organized and tastefully decorated. There was a couch pressed against the far wall and a loveseat on its neighboring wall. Both were adorned with color coordinated pillows, although he deigned to sit in neither. All in all the room was an interesting blend of symmetry and asymmetry. 

The only personal items sat on the center table: a few books and papers.

He turned as his hostess returned with a glass of water. He gracefully took it from her outstretched hand with a slight nod and a polite thank you.

"Are you enjoying sharing an apartment with my daughter, just the two of you?" Not a particularly subtle inquiry, but the girl knew why he was here. Any reaction she had to such insinuation would be deliciously telling one way or another.

A polite nod, a slight blush and a pleasant little smile as she sat down on the couch after handing him his drink. Crossing her legs and looking up at him. “She’s a lovely young woman Doctor. I’m honored that she’s let me be such a big part in her life– loving her is a privilege I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.”

She took a sip of her drink. Now that she was in her own home, their home, she felt far more confident.

"I hope the water’s good. We bought one of those new water filtering systems last week that you attach to the sink? I don’t quite taste the difference. Some people do though. Abby does. Worth the money for that alone, in my opinion."

It had a much clearer taste, lacking the metallic undertones of various deposits. He could certainly appreciate the difference and was unsurprised that Abigail’s refine palate could do the same.

As he took another sip he regarded her carefully. He had been right. While he missed the scent of fear, a calmer version was much more willing to provide information. It also meant she was more capable of picking and choosing what to reveal. An unfortunate trade off, but one that was the most beneficial at the moment.

The young woman clearly cared for his daughter. It was not a vapid attempt to gain his approval, although she certainly wanted that as well. She did not bristle at his jab, and she deserved a modicum of respect for that. It was more restraint than any of Abigail’s past relations had.

He partially circled the small table to stand a bit closer to her seated form. A token smile crossed his face although it didn’t reach his eyes.

"I am pleased the two of you seem to enjoy your residence together."

She looked up at him, still smiling. “Yeah. She’s a great roommate, we have a lot of fun together. I’d love to have you over for dinner sometime– I’d invite you to stay tonight but we weren’t exactly expecting company, so we’ve mostly got ramen and such. Diet of champions, you know?”

A little laugh, and then a comfortable silence on her end as she looked up at him curiously with a pleasant and open expression.

"So, what did you want to talk about…? I’ve got some crackers and things in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Sorry there isn’t more, like I said, we don’t have company very often, and Abigail and I aren’t really the snacking type of people, you know?"

His lips pursed at their idea of an acceptable meal. It was simply appalling.

"Well, then I shall endeavor to stop by more often and deliver some proper sustenance."

Biting her lip and rubbing her face in embarrassment, “Yeah… Maybe that would be good. I’m sorry. Neither of us are really cooks and we just… Don’t have time. College is so busy…” A little sigh, then a smile, sheepish. “Food would be nice, from time to time. That would be very kind of you Doctor Lecter.”

"It would be my pleasure."

He set down his now empty glass on the table, taking the time to note it had no condensation on the sides and wouldn’t leave a ring on the wood.

A graceful twist of his body and he was all but lounging in the loveseat. Like a panther he was comprised of casual disinterest, easy grace, and lethal intent. His fingers laid carefully laced in his lap.

His eyes never left her’s for a moment; gaze piercing. “Please, tell me about yourself. My daughter’s opinions aside, I know nothing of you.”

From her position on the couch, Marissa watched him lounge, finishing off her drink and setting it on one of the coasters on the table. He was watching her like all of Abigail’s fathers before him had– Lethal, almost.

Luckily for her, she was  _almost_  used to it.

Smiling and nodding, she broke eye contact as she stopped to think for a moment. Tell him about herself? God, what was there to tell? She wasn’t interesting at all.

"Well… I’m majoring in English Literature and Fine Arts. I do poetry on the side… I love to draw, it’s one of my favorite things to do. I think it’s safe to say that your daughter makes up a large portion of my muse. I wouldn’t be here without Abigail. She means a lot to me; we’ve been friends since we were very little."

Some walls raised a little higher. Sharp instincts. She could certainly sense the potential danger he might pose to her. Not just in a protective fatherly way, but in a truly predatory way as well.

Her gaze dropped from his; it wasn’t quite intimidation but it wasn’t the same level of earlier comfort either. Even so, she smiled and pondered an answer to give him.

English Literature and Fine Arts? An admirable pursuit. Something to file away for later inquiry.

He did know about their shared childhood. Although, he knew far fewer details than preferred.

"Yes, Abigail spoke of that in some measure. Love and death are the two great hinges on which all human sympathies turn. Tell me, is that why, of all her old friends, you alone did not abandon her in her time of need?"

TBC

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collaborative RP between me and MindfulDemon. You can also find these on tumblr. They're posted on my blog.
> 
> Me as Hannibal Lecter: http://drhanniballecter-phdmd.tumblr.com  
> MindfulDemon as Marissa Schurr: http://justabiterude.tumblr.com


	5. A Father's Prerogative (Ambiguous Time)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble of Hannibal being a protective and possessive father. Established Arissa and implied Hannigram.
> 
> Love is not an excuse.
> 
> She was in a rather good mood, really. She didn’t think much of it as he loomed over her, smiling tiredly. “We were up late last night. Sorry. Want me to go get her…?" "It’s already ten, why is Abigail not up yet?" Hannibal was practically on top of Marissa as he asked his question.

He’d gotten to know Marissa a little more. He can’t say he approved per se, but admittedly she was better than Abigail’s other past relations. Knocking on the door, he waited for someone to let him in.

Answering the door with a cough, Marissa blinked. “Yes…?”

Hannibal held aloft an ornately decorated food container. “May I come in?”

A nod. She was… A little slow right now. Just woken up. Baggy sweatpants and one of Abigail’s tee-shirts, thrown on in a hurry. “Abby’s still in bed. Asleep. You know what I mean. Sorry. I just woke up.”

He eyed her attire, lips faintly quirking as he remembered a similar breakfast delivery to a certain Will Graham some time ago. “Thank you,” he said as he moved past her. “Kitchen…?” he inquired moving in the general direction of the door way.

She lead the way, still a little groggy. God dammit she needed sleep. Abigail had kept her up all night and now Hannibal was– Fucker. What was he even doing here? Some more blinking and she tried to rub the sleep from her eyes. “In here. Sorry I’m not super awake I’m just… I’m tired. Studying.” A big yawn, covered of course.

Amused by her grogginess he let her social faux pas slide. He set the container down on the table, removing the lid to reveal a protein scramble, not unlike the one he gifted to Will. There were scrambled eggs seasoned with spices, pepper, and onion along with sausage. Not Cassie Boyle of course. Instead it was a rather rude woman. She thought it appropriate to spill coffee all over his suit and neither stop nor apologize. In fact she had the audacity to spit vitriol at him as if he were the one at fault.

He paused to inhale the familiar scents of a well prepared meal. There was the warm heat and the zest of spices.

His hand clenched at his side. Was that…?

His eyes narrowed. It was.

He turned to Marissa, surreptitiously leaning closer as he explained the dish. Wafting from her skin was the scent of sweat, heat, and Abigail.

"It’s already ten, why is Abigail not up yet?" Hannibal was practically on top of Marissa as he asked his question.

She was in a rather good mood, really. She didn't think much of it as he loomed over her, smiling tiredly. “We were up late last night. Sorry. Want me to go get her…? I’m sure she wouldn't want to miss breakfast. It looks delicious, Doctor Lecter. Thanks. For bringing it this early. I mean– You know. Early in our books.” A little laugh.

His eyes narrowed further. “Late? Indeed. Together no doubt.” 

Done playing games, Hannibal stepped closer and leaned over until their noses were scant inches apart. “I can smell her on you,” he hissed.

Taking a step back, brows furrowed. “We… Yeah? Together. I’m sorry…?” Breathing out nervously, “What’s the problem…?”

She was not expecting his arms to suddenly pin her against the wall.

Eyes went wide, heart dropped. Swallowing hard, “I-I’m sorry I didn’t– I didn’t mean to upset you it’s just– It’s been almost a year, I- I assumed you knew–”

Abigail’s arrival couldn't have come at a better time. Voice sharp despite the fact she’d been half asleep mere moments before, “Hannibal?”

His head jerked up but he didn’t move away. Locking eyes with Abigail, now in the entrance way, he could read the angry protectiveness in her eyes. Glancing back toward Marissa he contemplated that he really should have removed her from the apartment before smiting her.

Marissa’s breathing was shaky but generally steady, deep, nervous breaths taken at regular intervals as Abigail came to the rescue. She looked at Abigail like a deer in the headlights– Abigail gave her a look that spoke volumes.

Stay put and shut up.

Taking a step into the kitchen, “What are you doing, Hannibal?”

His lips pursed, but he still kept Marissa firmly locked in his grasp. “Good morning, Abigail. I brought breakfast.”

A deep breath, practically radiating irritation and a fierce, fierce protectiveness. Rubbing her forehead in what was almost exasperation before gesturing to Marissa, “Not my girlfriend, I would hope.”

Glaring down at Marissa’s apprehensive form, “No, not today.”

He nodded rather nonchalantly toward the uncovered dish of food, lying forgotten on the table. Some steam was still raising off of it. “Please, eat before it cools.”

Marissa clenched her jaw as Hannibal glared down at her, averting her gaze. She didn’t try to struggle. Abigail didn’t sit.

"Let her go, please, Hannibal."

Returning his gaze to his daughter he saw the same protective fire burning in her eyes. Suppressing a sigh, he knew he would not win this fight today. Regardless, he would not make this easy.

"Then tell me, what constitutes a reasonable excuse for turning in ‘late’, Abigail?"

"Reasonable in your definition, Hannibal?" A heavy sigh. "Nothing near what we were doing. It’s a basic human need, though, as I’m sure you’re well aware of. For what it’s worth, I started it. Would you like to take it up with me?"

Marissa was blushing now, avoiding looking at either of them. Her arms were starting to hurt; she flexed, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

The girl twitched under his palms, clearly uncomfortable. Swiftly, he moved pinning her entire body with a forearm and his body weight. He made sure her legs were caught in a way that would prevent any attempts at kicking him.

He held out his other hand, still composed. “Yes, come here, Abigail.”

Marissa tried to shy away, flinching slightly and pointedly looking past him at Abigail.

As Abigail approached him, her lips were pursed in irritation. “Here I am.”

His lips were pursed in turn, equally irritated. “Please, do explain.”

"We had  _sex_ , Hannibal. Is that what you’re looking for? Because that’s the answer and judging from your behavior you already know.”

Air was inhaled bringing with it the now redundant scents: heat, sweat, sex, Abigail, Marissa, spice, cinnamon.

Practically hissing, “Yes, I do know.”

His hiss again made Marissa flinch. He was too close for comfort. Her head hurt. This was not a normal morning after. Fancy breakfast or not, she’d prefer cuddles and coffee together before classes over this any day.

A deep breath, growing tired of this game. She’d been tired of it from the beginning. “Hannibal, what do you want, if that’s the case? She didn’t disrespect me, we both wanted it– Care to explain to me your stake in  _my_  sex life with  _my_  girlfriend?”

He knew he couldn’t draw this out much longer.

"What I want is for you to be safe, Abigail." He quirked a brow and aimed for one last, admittedly low blow. "You don’t have the best history with decision making."

She could almost feel a snarl rumble in her chest at that and Marissa saw it too. She knew that look. And then Abigail was composed again, taking a deep breath as nostrils flared and she brought herself back down to an icy calm. “We  _are_  safe, Hannibal. I assure you. My decisions in the bedroom are mine. And Marissa has no desire to coerce me, nor will she. Now. If you would so kindly let her go?”

Calmly, his own anger put on a low simmer, he could admire Abigail’s restraint. For that alone he’d reward her. 

He leaned back down bringing his lips next to Marissa’s ear. “Abigail will not always be around to rescue you. I will  _always_  know.”

Everyone stood frozen for moment. Hannibal’s calm breathes, Marissa’s shaky ones, and Abigail’s tenuously restrained ones. Slowly he moved away releasing the girl. He straightened out his suit, running his hands along the slight wrinkles and creases, smoothing them out.

Half turning he nodded to Abigail politely, as if he hadn’t just held her girlfriend hostage for a good ten minutes. Eyes narrowed he offered a baleful glare to the girl, dark with menacing promise.

"Please, do eat." He then calmly showed himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collaborative RP between me and MindfulDemon. You can also find these on tumblr. They're posted on my blog.
> 
> Me as Hannibal Lecter: http://drhanniballecter-phdmd.tumblr.com  
> MindfulDemon as Marissa Schurr and Abigail Hobbs: http://justabiterude.tumblr.com


	6. Help me, Help you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble where Will tries to comfort Marissa. Same universe as Shatter.  
> Established Arissa and Hannigram.
> 
> Birds of a feather flock together.
> 
> The resolve, that melody of steel, he could hear it singing. It forged for this girl two blades, and she was ready now to use both of them. Hannibal would call this a Becoming. Closing her eyes, she hesitated before speaking once more. "He... Knows how I care for her. How I care about her... He knows."
> 
> Do you?

A soft cry of terror, not awake nor asleep– A state in between as she clung to her pillow, wracked with quiet, petrified sobs. Curled into herself, she shivered and shook, a single word spoken again and again. "N-No... No no no... No! No..." At last, she awoke with a start. "D-Don't! Don't, god, don't!"

The sounds of distress seemed to echo in the otherwise silent house. It was so sharp and prevalent Will could feel the weight of it pressing against his chest, buzzing around his brain.

"...Marissa?" He called out. His call was fairly soft, hesitant. He felt a bit awkward just walking into the room, but her pain was so keen to his senses.

Panting, she sat upright in bed, soaked in sweat and tears rolling down her face. She heard the voice and her breath caught. Abigail hadn't awoken– The girl slept like a rock, Marissa knew– And she looked down at her sleeping friend on the pillow next to hers. Croaking out the word, "Will?"

He shuffled a bit closer, still uneasy. The emotions in this room were messy and strong. While it's never been easier for him to remove himself from them, and he had Hannibal to thank for that ironically, they could never simply be _ignored_. The feeling was akin to wading through soup, thick and filled with various fragments.

"Yes, it's me." He finally answered as he stopped just next to bed. His eyes flickered to Abigail's face.

 _Still dead asleep,_ he noted with distant fondness before his brain was once again drawn back to Marissa. A concerned worry furrowing his brow.

While his eyes flickered to Abigail's sleeping form, her gaze found him. "I-I'm sorry... I... I didn't mean to wake you up..." She wiped her eyes, nervous. "I-I'm sorry..."

His eyes crinkled as his face pulled into a reassuring smile, "Don't worry, you didn't wake me."

 Eyes darted between Marissa's pale and shaky and Abigail's sleeping peaceful one. "Why don't we go downstairs, hm? Get something to drink, maybe?"

As he spoke he leaned a bit forward offering a companionable hand to the young woman; some comfort went a long way in the face of nightmares.

Swallowing hard, Marissa took his hand. One more glance back at Abigail– As if she was scared she would disappear– Before she followed Will downstairs. "Thank you... T-Thanks."

He nodded pleasantly, small smile still tugging on his lips. "Of course."

The two stepped into the hallway, he paused only momentarily to quietly shut the door. For a few moments they walked in silence and slowly he could feel the initial raw panic die away a little. It was by no means gone, but some of the original sharpness had dulled.

Hoping to lighten the mood he turned his head a bit to address Marissa, "How do you feel about hot chocolate?" He chuckled faintly, "It's the only thing I think I can make better than Hannibal." Feeling the tension ease ever so slightly, he went a little further, infusing some playfulness into his tone, "but don't tell him that."

Blinking up at Will, a deep breath and a tired little smile. "I love hot chocolate. Calms me down... I mean, chocolate in general does that..." Then, glancing down, "Good. I was starting to think there was nothing he wasn't good at..."

His smile turned a bit sardonic, "he does like to give off that impression, doesn't he?"

She hummed, smiling. "Mhm..."

She seemed content to continue their short trek in silence, so he let her be. If there's one thing his self-isolation and tendency toward misanthropy has taught him it's that in this situation it's best for people to initiate things in their own time.

 _Still...,_ he frowned a bit. It wouldn't do for the swirl of chaos he could still feel pulsing between them to simply be buried again.

After a while in silence, a deep breath. "Why do you think... Hannibal is keeping me around, Will...?"

He was pleased she chose to break the ice first.

 _What does Hannibal want with you?_ His mind echoed the question back to him. Some dark amusement rose in his breast, amusement not quite entirely his own.

_That is the question, isn't it?_

His eyes darkened, eyelids lowering. Shadows darted through the passages of his mind and in their wake: feathers and a familiar _clop_ of hooves. Like oil, he let the darkness slide away, carried away downstream.

"Why does Hannibal keep most people around? To wind them up and watch them go." Here he turned to Marissa, seeking direct eye contact for once.

"Marissa, never underestimate Hannibal Lecter."

Glancing down at her hands as she came to sit at on the kitchen counter– Never would she do such a thing in front of Hannibal, such a childish, rude thing– She sat in silence for a moment before looking back up at Will. "You think Hannibal wants to... Wind me up?"

He stepped away rolling the words through his mind. As he pondered he unconsciously moved to gather the ingredients for their hot chocolate. Cups and mugs and the pot lightly clanged together, and still he thought for a moment more.

Behind him he could feel her shift a bit uneasily from her perch on the counter.

Finally he spoke giving voice to motives he could currently only speculate. "I think he sees in you a certain...opportunity, some proclivity toward ideas he'd approve of."

He looked up from where his hands were blending sugars and cocoa, "I think he wants to see how far he can push you."

She licked her lips as she watched him prepare the drinks, more to wet them than out of thirst or want. Turning her attention away from him, she watched the window, the shifting darkness outside, the slight breeze. Tilting her head, slightly, "And... Should there be some part of me that... Wants to be... As you put it, pushed...?"

He paused for a moment as he registered her words. A split second passed and then he resumed making their drinks as if nothing had happened. As he worked his mind pulled at the traces that Hannibal left in his mind. The little hooks and lures that dangled over the stream, the elegant adornment of feathers that hung from some branches, and the near imperceptible traces of blood splatter lingering in the shade.

"Most would say no." A shift to the side and he set the finished concoctions to heat on the stove.

He turned, leaning back on the counter opposite Marissa, arms crossed. He bit at his lip wondering what the least destructive thing to say was. Not long ago he'd be trying to guide Marissa away from everything. He's learned since then. Hannibal's an indulgent man and not often denied the things he wants. One way or another he'd ruin this girl.

_But...it's not just Hannibal anymore._

"But most forget that there's a buried part in all of us that revels in darker, more immoral things. It's the choices we make that will define us in the end. _Your_ choices, Marissa."

"It's not buried. That's what I'm scared of."

The words came out of their own volition, a plea for help, almost– Albeit monotone. She turned to him, taking a deep breath, arms folded over her chest. "I want what's best for Abigail... This part of me. This isn't what's best. I know it's not... But it's so real... And it's so... Strong." She swallowed, licking her lips again.

 He looks at her then and reads the desperation wafting from her. He could hear the unspoken plea clear as day. He could hear their drinks just starting to simmer.

"In a perfect world you'd take Abigail and flee to some place far from here, no doubt. But this isn't a perfect world. I've found..." Here he trailed off wondering if _this_ was truly second best, or even third, or fourth.

Starting again against a background sound of steam, "I've found that if you give a man like Hannibal an inch he'll take a mile, but...if you disguise an inch as a mile...suddenly there's quite a few phantom inches to allocate."

He turned away again, taking the time to pour their drinks into mugs and shut the stove off.

"Do you understand, Marissa?" He asked, back still turned.

She watched him with dark brown eyes, starting slightly at the click of the stove but apart from that remaining unblinking. A wry, bitter little smile. "I think so. It's a matter of what I can give him though, and what he's looking for... A matter of how much I want to give him. It's right there..." She closed her eyes, watched darkness swirl behind her eyelids, took a deep breath, before opening them again. "There's little I wouldn't do for her. He knows that..."

The darkness he could feel rising in her hovered along the edge of his senses. It wasn't the well-controlled immense presence that Hannibal's was. No, instead it was wisps, tendrils, little shadows and curls.

He approached her, warmed, black mugs in each hand. Steam rose from the dark, smooth liquid in vaporous threads not unlike the _intent_ he could feel, nearly _see_ swirling from her.

"There is very little you wouldn't do for _Abigail_ , Marissa." He extended his arm, placing his own mug down, to take her hand in his. Gently, he placed the warmed mug against her palm, curling her fingers around it. He held the beverage there between the two of them, warmth seeping into both of their skin and flesh.

"Where you draw the line is entirely up to where you think _Abigail_ can draw the line. Remember whom it is you're willingly giving miles."

She closed her eyes again, accepted the warmth, welcomed it, even– The feeling of skin on skin was comforting, helped to battle the darkness, and she took another deep breath. After a long silence,

"I feel like she's in danger. I feel like he's putting her there... Through me..."

Eyes observed as she stood there, eyes closed, letting the warmth seep into her. He could feel those reaching inky tendril receding pulling themselves back into the well from whence they came. Instead of steam they were once again a pool, rippling, waiting.

"I will not lie to you... under the circumstances there are very few opportunities for Abigail to be safe. I will do my utmost to protect her, and you, you have devoted yourself to her."

He squeezed her hand a little tighter, "Hannibal is potentially dangerous yes, but not strictly because of you." Here he paused to take her other hand in his. Placing it against the cup he now enveloped both hands in his own.

"You need to clear away the spindly threads of his manipulation, part the veils, contain the spillage. You need to think _clearly_ about what you need to do, Marissa."

A beat of silence passed before he stepped away, leaving only her hands cradling the drink. He picked up his own mug once more, took a slip, let the heat of it pleasantly burn its way down his throat.

_What will you do, Marissa?_

His hands were gone– So was the warmth she had cherished. The cup just wasn't the same. Licking her lips before taking a sip, she let it burn down her throat, let it warm her up from the inside. Nothing could. There were very few people, very few things left in life that could warm her. Smiling almost sadly, "I appreciate the advice..."

As she stood there drinking her hot chocolate suddenly she was nothing but a lost girl once again. The darkness had retreated and it was only hopelessness that was left.

She didn't exactly cut an impressive figure, unconsciously curled into herself. Not that she was particularly menacing to begin with; slim, not particularly tall, no, not very intimidating.

Physical contact had never been his forte, but all the same he stepped forward to envelope her in a gentle hug. Mindful of the two mugs, he held her loosely, hoping the human contact was enough.

"I'm sure Hannibal's told you can come to him for guidance. Now, I'm telling you, you can come to _me_ if you need anything, okay? I'm not going to let you be alone, Marissa."

_Not like how I was alone._

As he hugged her, she shivered, as if struck by a chill– And then, she started to cry. Slow at first, quiet, barely noticeable– But as a particularly violent sob wracked her, she clung to him tight, hiding her face in his shirt. "I-I'm sorry," she managed, swallowing hard. "I-I'm sorry I'm just– I'm..." I'm unstable. I'm scared. I don't want anyone to hurt her. I don't want to hurt her, and I don't know what to do.

"I-I'm sorry..."

The meltdown was almost expected all things considered. Although, he did need to catch the mug she unknowingly dropped as she clung to him and set it, and his own, aside.

Hands now free he brought her closer, soothingly rubbing a hand down her back. How he knew what it was like to feel, to be unstable.

"There's nothing to apologize for." He didn't offer her mindless hushing or empty platitudes. She needed this release. Instead, he would address each of her concerns as they surfaced.

Hannibal was good at paddling people where _he_ wanted them to go. He wouldn't let himself be the same way. No, he'd be a true paddle, only aiding in getting her to her _chosen_ destination.

"I will not let anyone hurt Abigail. I will not let _you_ hurt Abigail. More importantly, you will not let _yourself_ hurt Abigail."

She didn't speak back. She had nothing left to say– Or rather, if she did, the words wouldn't come. A shuddering, shaking breath, and she stood there, letting him hold her. She was beyond overwhelmed. Beyond scared. Even his words were barely enough to keep her in the present, to keep her from going back to the night she'd been so close– So close to getting away forever.

The night she decided she didn't want to, she reminded herself, a moment too late.

She felt like she was drowning, but she kept it to herself, breathing heavy.

"Alright..."

Rather than coming closer it seemed as if she were spiraling away. He could tell his words were not truly heard. There was a pit of desolation here, far deeper than anything strictly recent could explain.

He focused, calming the tide of his stream, let the rush that had been pounding at the back of his brain come pouring in. For a moment he was nearly lost. It was nothing like the minds of killers he normally touched. It wasn't the sticky, black tar that tries to cling, nor the branches that try to intertwine; it was not the shadows that try to take root in his mind.

This was just raw and sharp and immense. It surged over him like a tidal wave, an uncontrolled force of nature; it hammered away. In those waves and crests he could see blood, and knives, and defeat. In the spray of mist he could see scarves. In the faint streaks of sunlight he could see Abigail. And in the depths he could see phantoms, and death, and hate, and darkness.

He surfaced, his stream's current once more roaring, the tide receding. He pulled her closer still, hoping to anchor her in the present, tether the battered ship still at sea.

Slowly but surely, she felt her breathing grow less labored, less gasping. She couldn't feel the rope around her neck anymore– couldn't feel anything but him. She focused on that– Focused on him, on the fact that he was here, that Abigail was upstairs, that she was breathing, breathing, she was breathing– One last deep, labored breath and then they steadied almost entirely. Eyes closing, she did her best to keep it that way. Swallowing, "I'm not... I'm not crazy. I'm not..." It was as much a statement to him as it was to herself. Maybe someday she would believe it.

Distantly, he could feel the surge of the waters calming a bit. It would do them no good for him to be overwhelmed again and so he left it to the judgment of his lesser senses.

He could feel her still shuddering a bit against him, but slowly her breathing started to even out. Her words were almost a whisper against his chest, but he heard them all the same.

"You're not crazy. I immerse myself in crazy every day, I know what crazy looks like, feels like. Trust me, you are not it. You are a very strong, very brave young woman, Marissa. Abigail is lucky to have you. She could not have found a better friend."

Thanking him for his point of view on her psyche seemed almost vulgar given the situation. She didn't. Instead, she took another deep breath, giving a small nod. Closing her eyes, she hesitated before speaking once more. "He... Knows how I care for her. How I care about her... He knows."

_Do you?_

The shift in tone was minute but to him it spoke volumes. _Friend_ was not the right term, but then neither were companion, partner, or lover. The bond he could feel between the two went beyond labels.

That Abigail was the sole source of sunlight in the surge that was Marissa's mind was telling. Hannibal saw that sunlight and attempted to bottle it, darken it, hold it out of reach like a malevolent god and tell this poor girl to jump for it.

"Abigail is your sunlight, Marissa. She's the streaks of light that peek through even the heaviest of the storm clouds in your mind." Again he sought out eye contact, he had already felt the force of her mind, been pulled by the undertow.

"Hannibal makes it his business to know such things. The bonds you hold most sacred...he will ruthlessly exploit them, and in such a way that the unwary won't even notice."

She clenched her jaw, though whether out of fear or defiance she wasn't sure as she met his gaze. Swallowing, "I– I won't let him do that. I won't. I can't..." Will's words were beyond true. The scope of what she felt for the young woman upstairs went beyond what he had described. Abigail was _home_. "I'll do what I have to. Whatever I have to."

Her words, for the first time tonight, rang with more than just darkness or intent; they rang with resolve, an unsung melody of steel.

He could see it in his mind. Everything Abigail means to this young woman, every bit of happiness, love, devotion, loyalty, hope, dreams, all of it drawn on to forge the finest blades. Blades with which to strike down anything that would endanger Abigail.

The plunge into Marissa's turbulent mind had lent him the last bit of insight he needed to illuminate Hannibal's motives. Echoes of his words and shadows of his gestures from Marissa's memories played across the back of his eyelids. They burst like sparks in the synapses of his brain.

His eyes were dark as he held her fiery gaze. "He wants you to be a killer, Marissa. A quaint little tool that he can use to point at his enemies so he can focus his attentions elsewhere." Their eyes bore holes into each other, "Can you be a killer, Marissa?"

I am a killer. I want to be. The words almost escaped but she held them back. He could most certainly see them in her eyes, she had little doubt, and of that she was slightly ashamed. Nodding and taking a deep breath, she swallowed. "Yes."

The wisps of darkness he had seen floating around solidified. The resolve, that melody of steel, he could hear it singing. It forged for this girl two blades, and she was ready now to use both of them. Hannibal would call this a Becoming.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Silence as he nodded, and she paused for a moment. Licking her lips, she leaned across the counter slightly, a dark kind of intrigue evident.

"What does it feel like? To kill someone?"

He looked at her then, eyes hooded, "It's the ugliest feeling in the world." A moment passed and he could feel the weight of her regard.

He looked away, "The most horrid rush you'll ever feel in your life."

She wanted to feel it for herself. God, did she want to feel it. A deep breath in. Her eyes had darkened, pupils dilated slightly. "Hm..."

One hum of contemplation and it carried with it a thousand voices. He wondered at the shadows that infused all his company. It was insidious. It was beautiful.

-

He had heard the voices, Will and Marissa his mind easily placed, as they walked past his door. The girl had cracks all along her psyche, he had only served to widen them. Now, one way or another, the final blow would be struck.

He contemplated, the voices fading into the distance, what would emerge from the shattered remains? Ruin or splendor?

Time marched steadily onward. A minute passed. Two. Five.

He stood silently as the wave crashed and the cliff crumbled. There was a stillness in the room. He broke it.

"My apologies for disturbing you, Will." He nodded, "Marissa." His eyes surveyed the scene, the hot chocolate cold and forgotten. "Difficulties sleeping?"

Marissa looked at him, though her head didn't move– Only her eyes. They snapped to his figure, and she watched. Taking a sip of the lukewarm hot chocolate on the counter, she stopped leaning on it before turning to face him completely. "Quite," she said simply. "I'm... sorry if we woke you Doctor Lecter."

He regarded her calmly, "Not at all. I told you, Marissa, my door is always open."

Will stiffened in the corner, teetering between bowing out and mediating. His eyes flitted over, part of him was pleased at the darkness he could feel spilling out. The other part knew Will was not quite at the height of his own potential. One day he knew he'd be able to see Will adorned in his Crown of Thorns atop a Throne of Bones.

He tilted his head, curious, prodding, "You must be exhausted, Will. Why don't you retire for the night?"

Will tensed further, lips pursing. With a heavy exhale, the man relaxed, "No, I'm quite alright, Hannibal."

_Fascinating_

A slight warmth crept into his tone, "Truly, I can never quite predict you, Will."

The warmth receded replaced with a much sharper regard. "Is there anything I can do for you, Marissa?"

Marissa watched the exchange, heard the slight warmth, saw the way Hannibal regarded Will– Things clicked and a wry little smile graced her lips, before it was gone again. Looking to Hannibal, "Maybe. I'm... Not sure yet."

He tilted his head again, eyes colder, "And what _are_ you sure of?"

She licked her lips. "That there are things that need trying. Things I'd like to do..."

His head remained slightly tilted. His lips parted to speak.

"Perhaps, this is a discussion best left until morning, _Hannibal_."

His eyes narrowed slightly. _Rude, Will, ...now what's to be done about that?_

Will seamlessly inserted himself part way between Marissa and he. Steely blue eyes sought out his own maroon.

Marissa watched Will step between the two of them– It was eerily similar to Abigail, the way he stood between she and Hannibal. Silently, she watched the exchange.

-

Hannibal regarded him with a cold, heat that was very familiar. It was a weight that pressed down on all his senses. Not wild and chaotic like Marissa's flood, but a steady pressure of pure gravity. A force that bent others to its will, a power of knowing the world will move away for its every step.

The mirrors of his mind aligned; an intense force of flame and pressure hurled itself back.

A smirk curled at the corners of lips and sparks burst in the corners of eyes. Pressure _bent_ and the world stilled.

He half turned his head, eyeing Marissa once more, Hannibal in the edge of his vision. "Feeling better?"

The folly of his question's words hung between every party present. _Would she take the out?_

 Marissa watched the silence between the two of them. The force being exerted was almost tangible– She could feel it hanging in the air. As Will turned to her once more, she hesitated, felt the weight behind his words, too. Would she take it? Should she? Contemplation marked her features before she swallowed.

"Not... Quite, no."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collaborative RP between me and MindfulDemon. You can also find these on tumblr. They're posted on my blog.
> 
> Me as Hannibal Lecter and William Graham: http://drhanniballecter-phdmd.tumblr.com  
> MindfulDemon as Marissa Schurr: http://justabiterude.tumblr.com


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